I’ve been stuck on a motorcycle on a high-altitude pass before. I’ve been in -40deg Celsius at the Arctic circle a few years ago, and I’ve even woken up on a sack of flour in a dingy dhaba in the middle of a snowstorm and cried because it was so cold. So I like to think that I am pretty qualified for this crazy ride that Royal Enfield has planned.

This time, there is one crucial difference. All my previous such adventures have been for a day at the worst and an hour at best. This time, they say it will be nine sustained days of teeth chatter and no, my amma won’t be able to come save me when I’ve had enough.

I quickly pack Rs 7,000 worth (in excess baggage) of warm clothes and riding gear and buy enough thermals to own a controlling stake in Decathlon. This is not the usual cold-weather adventure, it can go very wrong. Also sending chills down my spine is when Royal Enfield delays the start of the trip by a couple of days because they want us to be in Kaza for the heaviest snowfall of the season. Hang on a minute! Don’t normal people try to avoid bad weather? I quickly make another trip to Decathlon and arrive at the starting point with my best frosty smile pasted on.

The start point is in Shimla and I’m told there will be seven slightly modified Royal Enfield Himalayan Sleets waiting for us. We will then attempt to ride to Kaza in Spiti Valley, Himachal Pradesh, via the only route that is open/maybe open at this time of the year. The e-mail from Royal Enfield promises minus polar bear temperatures, lots of black ice on the road and a small side note that tells us that a hot bath at the end of a cold ride will be impossible once we cross over into Spiti Valley. Am I nervous? You bet I am. I know from past experience that snow and ice are the most difficult surfaces to ride a motorcycle on. You need to be fit because every inch of progress on zero-traction surfaces like these is like clawing back victory from the icy fingers of winter. The problem with snow and ice is that they have this ability to make you go from full CS Santosh control to sliding on your donkey ass in exactly 0.1 milliseconds. Oh well, like Vijay Parmar (India’s Thierry Sabine for those not in the know) said, I asked for this.

GLOBAL WARMING

So far, that e-mail has failed to live up to its veiled threat. The sun is out but it is cold and for once, I seem to be wearing the right warm riding gear. That changes slightly when we get to the high point on the road. The first sign I get is when my toes start freezing. Painfully. The frosty bite of winter is seeping in through my boots and woollen socks and robbing my toes of feel.

I am also a very clever fellow obviously, because, in my bid to take a few photographs at the helipad at Nako, I’ve exposed my fingers to the knife-edged wind that is blowing through the place. I now have frozen toes and fingers. I look back now and thank god I didn’t feel the need to answer nature’s call at that point.

I quickly stuff my hands into the rain mitts that have been fitted on the Sleets and turn on the heated grips to 80 percent heat. It takes a while for the grips to warm up and in that while, every clutch pull and every two-finger front brake application is agony. A few kilometres up, there is ice on the road at Malling Nallah – the crossover into Spiti. We finally seem to be leaving the everyday comforts we take for granted behind.

I’m told we can forget about heated hotel rooms and running water. From now on, the water I brush my teeth with is so icy it scalds, and every time I smile at the face of adversity, my dry lips crack painfully. No amount of slathered Burt’s Bees helps (Vaseline does a better job, though), and anyone using anything other than a BSNL network can forget about their daily social media updates. I am surprised that the usual signs of AMS – the slower thought process, slight nausea, the mild headaches – aren’t hitting me. Vijay Parmar tells me that because it is so cold right now, the air up here is denser. We are, in effect, breathing like a K&N cold air filter. How cool is that!

That night at a homestay in Tabo, we huddle around a bukhari sipping on soup and rum. I learn certain rules of a mountain home chief, of which is that if you leave the room for whatever reason, you close the door behind you and when you come back, you bring two logs of wood from the pile outside to keep the fire going. I step out and stare in wonder at the diamond carpet high above me before my rapidly depleting body heat forces me under three blankets, a down jacket and uneasy sleep. There is still no sign of snow.

WE WILL GO AND FIND IT THEN

Apparently, when it snows, it isn’t as cold as when it is not snowing. Either that or you are working so hard to get the bike through deep snow that you forget how cold it is. I think it is the latter because I’ve been struggling to ride up a slope covered in one-and-a-half feet of snow. We stopped before attempting the climb to that little village in Pin Valley National Park and fitted snow chains, but even that is not helping. The bike is bogging down and I’m having to walk it up the slope – engine on, first gear, clutch out, revs up. At 12,000ft, this little exercise that I execute so easily in Idukki’s mud is making me curse the cigarette I had with my chai earlier that morning. And then, the snowy patch hardens into a sheet of ice that runs across our temporary ski slope – it is a stream that froze and drops over the edge into a short but promisingly painful trip to the river below. I freeze but that’s the wrong thing to do. Ice is like an oil slick with a sprinkling of banana peel on it, so you want to ride the bike like you are walking on a slippery bathroom floor – no sudden movements or panicking allowed. In fact, you shouldn’t even think because in the time it takes to think, you will land your ass on a cold hard surface. Because it is a short stretch of ice, you ride up to it as slowly as you can, pull the clutch in and let the bike simply roll over the treacherously slick surface. The deep snow at the other side seems like a Velcro patch after that. I can feel my heart beating furiously, my mouth is dry and I find myself breathing like a locomotive. I take a few sips from my hydration pack, find a place where the side-stand won’t sink into the ground and watch in guilty glee as the others behind me struggle up the same slope in a mix of heavy breathing and flying snow.

Pin Valley is beautiful at this time of year. We haven’t seen a soul all morning; I haven’t seen snow this white ever and the razor-sharp peaks of the Himalayas etched against that cobalt blue sky makes me briefly think that all this talk about global warming is nonsense. But it isn’t. The slopes on the south side are devoid of snow because well, it hasn’t snowed. Phuentshok, our host for the night in Tabo tells us it hasn’t snowed here since November and that this place should be under a ton of snow by now. It is a scary thought.

THE POND

What I love about the Himalayan is that it is so easy to manage off-road. It has good ground clearance like every dual-sport bike should have, but the seat isn’t high off the ground like every other dual-sport bike’s is. This means I can get my feet on the ground comfortably and that means I am way more confident on it than I am on my Triumph Tiger back home. On the dirt/gravel sections, as we head to Kaza later that evening, I find myself doing speeds I wouldn’t dare do on a bigger motorcycle. That the Himalayan has very modest power means I have that poor engine on its throttle stop most of the time. I won’t lie though. I did wish many times that it had a bit more power, but then again, I will tell you that the bike is fun because it is unintimidating.

Now, because we are supposed to be buried in snow today and because it still hasn’t snowed, we decide to head higher up from the 12,000ft valley floor towards Kibber. We find a small pond that’s frozen over. I decide I am very clever again and fit the snow chains on my bike without gloves on. Cold air, cold metal, no feeling in the fingers. I ride nervously out onto the broad basin of the pond and promptly have the bike wash out from under me. Me falling breaks the ice (figuratively, not literally) and I am soon surrounded by six other bikes all hooning around the relatively broad basin of white. We drag raced on it, went sliding across the ice on our collective asses multiple times, tried our hands at flat tracking – it was an incredible high. It is cold but we’ve forgotten how cold it is and everyone’s face mirrors the same feeling – up there in the cold at 14,000ft with no one but us watching, freedom kicked in. Moments like this make me glad to be alive.

WHITEOUT

Through the ride, I’ve learned that there are different kinds of snow that you ride on. There’s deep snow which is an absolute workout to ride through, there’s ice covered by a thin layer of snow that is treacherous to ride on and there’s the third kind – the kind we get on the last day of the ride out from Kalpa.

Ironically, we’ve had to leave Spiti Valley to get proper snowfall and overnight at Kalpa, a ton of the stuff has come down and turned the landscape fairy-tale white. The third kind of snow is now what we have to ride on and, to my delight, I discover that it is the most enjoyable sort. The road down to Reckong Peo is tarmac and on it is a few inches of snow. It is here that the snow chains work their best because they find enough traction on those few inches and there’s grip underneath. The residents of Kalpa stay in their warm houses as we ride down that road surrounded by tall pine trees and crisp, clean air. I learn to use the power and slide the rear wheel around hairpins; I learn that this kind of snow lets you take liberties, and I am genuinely sad that from here to Shimla and beyond is now a long road back to normal life.

That night, as we sit around a table and share war stories, I realise what a kickass ride this has been. The struggle through the snow, the heart-in-the-mouth moments over ice, the biting cold, the billion stars on a pitch-black night and the incredibly close relationships you build with total strangers when you sit around a warm fire in the middle of nowhere is what made this trip for me. The chaps from Royal Enfield tell me that this ride was a ‘testing the waters’ kind of ride and they plan to include it in next year’s ride calendar, which in turn means we were guinea pigs. If this is what being a guinea pig feels like, sign me up for the next one, please.

BIKE PREP

A few minor modifications were all that was necessary to get these Himalayan Sleets ready for the snow ride. The engine oil was changed to fully synthetic 5W-40 grade to battle the expected below-freezing temperatures, and the drive chain had to be cleaned and lubricated almost every day because regular chain lubes don’t last long in these temperatures. Also, the foot peg rubbers were removed so our boots would grip them better. Then, of course, there were the Mizuno snow chains without which traversing the snow and ice stretches would have been very difficult.

For our comfort, Royal Enfield fitted the bikes with rain mitts as well as heated grips from a company called Oxford. That’s it. That was all that was needed.

RIDER PREP

You are going to ride through extreme temperatures, and if you get your riding gear wrong, it will ruin your ride. Here’s what I used to stay warm:

SOL SS-1 ADV helmet

Scott Recoil XI goggles

Alpinestars Touring winter balaclava

Royal Enfield Darcha all-weather jacket with rain and warm liners

Triumph Navigator gloves

Royal Enfield Darcha pants with rain liner

Two layers of Decathlon thermal inner wear

Decathlon woollen socks

Sidi On Road Gore-Tex boots (worked brilliantly off-road)

Decathlon 2-litre hydration pack

Also, remember to try on all your gear to make sure they fit well before the ride. Discovering your boots don’t have space for the extra thickness of the woollen socks, a night before the ride, can be a bummer.

OUSEPH CHACKO

]]>Staff Writer Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal Enfields2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsSpiti Valley has this ability to tell you exactly how ant-sized you are in this universe.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsDeadlifts are something you might be doing quite often on ice.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsSnow chains. Easy to fit and saves lives.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsAlways wear your helmet – on the bike and in a snow fight.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsThink only you have bad hair days?2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsSpiti Valley is empty and devoid of tourists this time of year. Oh, except for these nuts on motorcycles who come looking for trouble.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsYou can get dog-tired battling deep snow.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsTake me to your leader, she said.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsImps in a winter wonderland.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsSome feel colder than others, obviously.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal Enfields2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsHot food is heaven when it is this cold.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsI have no beef with you, Mr Parmar.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsYou’re as cold as ice is a song and, as you can see here, a feeling.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsThe woods are lovely, dark and deep but we’ve got a ride to complete.2461402461401Staff Writer Heaven freezes over: Riding to the Himalayas on Royal EnfieldsSeven bikes, a great bunch of people. What a ride!2461402461401Sat, 12 May 2018 09:00:00 +1000408187Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000Some people are mad enough to ride into the Himalayas during winter. We don ten layers of clothes to observe and partake with these nutcases.Some people are mad enough to ride into the Himalayas during winter. We don ten layers of clothes to observe and partake with these nutcases.Sat, 12 May 2018 09:00:00 +1000"heaven freezes over" "riding" "himalaya" "royal enfield"https://www.autocarindia.com/auto-features/heaven-freezes-over-riding-to-the-himalayas-on-royal-enfields-408187#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed40818770 years of Land Rover India drive image galleryStaff Writer Staff Writer 70 years of Land Rover India drive image gallery2461402461401Thu, 10 May 2018 12:20:00 +1000408321Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000To celebrate 70 years of Land Rover, we took part in a drive to Darjeeling, which also saw the attendance of a 1971 Land Rover SUV, the Lightweight, built for the army to be dropped out of planes.To celebrate 70 years of Land Rover, we took part in a drive to Darjeeling, which also saw the attendance of a 1971 Land Rover SUV, the Lightweight, built for the army to be dropped out of planes.Thu, 10 May 2018 12:20:00 +1000"70 years of "land rover" "india" "drive" ""image" "gallery"https://www.autocarindia.com/auto-images/70-years-of-land-rover-india-drive-image-gallery-408321#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed408321Honda City 20th Anniversary Celebration Drive video part 4Staff Writer Staff Writer Honda City 20th Anniversary Celebration Drive video part 42461402461401Fri, 16 Mar 2018 18:08:00 +1000407778Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000On the final leg of the journey, we take the current, fourth-gen Honda City down the home stretch from Kolkota to New Delhi on the Golden Quadrilateral.On the final leg of the journey, we take the current, fourth-gen Honda City down the home stretch from Kolkota to New Delhi on the Golden Quadrilateral.Fri, 16 Mar 2018 18:08:00 +1000"honda city" "20th anniversary" "celebration drive" "video" "part 4"https://www.autocarindia.com/auto-videos/honda-city-20th-anniversary-celebration-drive-video-part-4-407778#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed407778Honda City 20th Anniversary Celebration Drive video part 3Staff Writer Staff Writer Honda City 20th Anniversary Celebration Drive video part 32461402461401Thu, 15 Mar 2018 13:37:00 +1000407744Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000In Part 3 of our drive, we move on to Gen 3 City. Just outside Chennai, we put the Gen 3 through its paces on an empty racetrack, before driving to Vijayawada and Kolkata.In Part 3 of our drive, we move on to Gen 3 City. Just outside Chennai, we put the Gen 3 through its paces on an empty racetrack, before driving to Vijayawada and Kolkata.Thu, 15 Mar 2018 13:37:00 +1000"honda" "city" "20th anniversary" "celebration drive" "video" "part 3"https://www.autocarindia.com/auto-videos/honda-city-20th-anniversary-celebration-drive-video-part-3-407744#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed407744Honda City 20th Anniversary Celebration Drive video part 2Staff Writer Staff Writer Honda City 20th Anniversary Celebration Drive video part 22461402461401Mon, 12 Mar 2018 10:57:00 +1000407711Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000Part 2 of our epic drive around India celebrating 20 years of the Honda City; After dropping the Gen 1 in Mumbai we head for Bengaluru in the Gen 2 and Gen 4.Part 2 of our epic drive around India celebrating 20 years of the Honda City; After dropping the Gen 1 in Mumbai we head for Bengaluru in the Gen 2 and Gen 4.Mon, 12 Mar 2018 10:57:00 +1000"honda city" "20th anniversary" "celebration drive" "video" "part 2"https://www.autocarindia.com/auto-videos/honda-city-20th-anniversary-celebration-drive-video-part-2-407711#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed407711A City Quartet: Road Trip

I ’m in an impromptu drag race against a 19-year-old Honda City and I’m losing. A hint of smoke from that car’s tailpipe tells me the engine has crossed 5,500rpm and found its second wind. I can almost see the grin on Hormazd’s face as that happens.

A short run and a couple of gears later, we slow down and resume adult behaviour. This is only the customary four generations of Honda City photo shoot in Noida – the cars have a 6,000km road trip ahead of them.

Why are we going on a 6,000km road trip? Well, it has been 20 years since the Honda City first showed up on Indian roads. 20 years since a sea change happened to how we look at cars and what we expect from them. In these 20 years, we also started getting the roads to drive these cars on; and the first one of those roads was the Golden Quadrilateral.

The planning for this mother road, which links the four big metropolitan cities in India, was completed in 1999 – a year after the Honda City came to India. Construction of the road started in 2001, but then it took another eleven years to complete. In that time, Honda reinvented the City many times. From starting out as a simple, low-slung family car powered by the first 100hp motor in the country, the City went from first-generation swan to second-generation ugly duckling, and back to swan for the third generation. All of this happened while the government was still looking for funds and facing problems with land acquisition to complete a six-year project that ended up taking many more. Oh well, nothing new there.

To celebrate two decades of Citys, we are going to drive four generations of the Honda City along the length of the Golden Quadrilateral. For us, this is both, a documentary and a trip down memory lane. It is a documentary of the state the Golden Quadrilateral is in all its time of existence. The trip down memory lane? That’s just an excuse for a road trip.

Capital to financial capital
You forget how low old cars are; and so, when I drop into generation one’s seats, I let myself drop a couple of milliseconds early. The seat is lower than where I expect it to be. So a clumsy fall and a small wince later, I swing my legs in, slide the analogue, ‘browned-from-wear’ key into the starter and give it a twist. This 80,000km-run, 1999 City EXi has no trouble starting. MH-01-Y-9111 is Parsi-owned and according to its owner, is used twice a week to get his aged relatives to Bombay Gymkhana and back home. Asking it to do a cross-country run at this age seems absurd, until you actually drive it. It runs like it left the showroom recently – the dampers have spring in them, the engine still has the energy of a teenager and in no way does it feel like it left the production line nearly two decades ago.

Anyway, you realise how much a modern car pampers you only when you step back a couple of decades. I have no clue how anyone ever reversed a car without a reverse camera or, at the very least, parking sensors. I also soon realise that all the connectivity I have is through the steering wheel, the pedals and the seat of my pants. There are no distractions in here – the simple dials light up in the same shade of tungsten yellow as the analogue dials of a 1990’s hi-fis (remember those?), voice commands come in the form of you singing ‘Another day in Paradise’, and you actually have to rotate a dial to vaguely set the air conditioning somewhere between red, blue and comfortable. This lack of distraction is good because this bit of GQ that runs through Haryana demands you pay attention.

Through the many villages that line the road are oblivious bikers, lazy cattle and swerving multi-axle trucks. In fact, the absolute lack of in-built safety is the one consistent thing we will see all through the rest of the drive. I will blow a gasket about this, later.

Anyway, the oldest City is still such a hoot. Because you sit so low to the ground, the sense of speed is enhanced and 100kph feels like 150! The engine snarls when you’re in low gear and high revs, the linear throttle response – it is all there!

Take the rose-tinted glasses off for a second, though. This is a family car that we considered sporty because when it came to India, the competition was still fighting about leaf spring settings! You also feel a bit unprotected. Two decades ago, you probably had to buy an S-class to get ABS and airbags as standard; and two decades ago, A-pillars were slimmer than a Victoria’s Secret model and the tyres were narrower than her waist. Out on a six-lane unpoliced highway, all of this leaves you feeling rather naked.

But you forget all that the minute you cross over into Rajasthan. Here, there’s ample space to wind out that 16-valve engine. The wide, open corners remind you why a low centre of gravity is so important in carrying big cornering speeds and the new MRF rubber we’ve fitted on the car keeps it secure.

Also helping our cause are the roads through Rajasthan and Gujarat – wide open stretches, six-lanes, and that odd blithering idiot on a motorcycle to keep you on your toes. The old City runs beautifully all the way and we arrive in Mumbai to swap into the second-generation car.

Financial capital to traffic jam central
Blasphemy. The fans were up in arms. Honda had forced the Fonz to return as a college professor for season two. The second-generation City lost 23hp to the old car, looked almost as proportional as a Picasso painting and was about as exciting to drive as a white refrigerator – but Honda knew that the mid-sized customer’s needs had changed. He now had two kids, parents who were getting on in age and a wife who no longer enjoyed bouncing off the 7,000rpm limiter on the way to the supermarket.

The second-generation City brought in practicality and (at a later stage) ABS and airbags. The old parents could now slide into the higher seats easily, three weeks of toys and diapers would fit in the big boot and the wife stuck it in fourth gear and smiled all the way to the kitty party.

I will agree with how practical it is. Leaving Mumbai during packed traffic, I appreciate the light clutch, the utterly light steering and the easy gearshift. For the 40-odd kilometres to Panvel, I am entirely happy to be ensconced in the ungainly proportions because it feels like I’m driving a toy.

Then we hit the six-lane Mumbai-Pune Expressway leg of the Golden Quadrilateral. I wind out the engine (it doesn’t complain), I lean on the skinny tyres (they protest loudly), I look for some excitement (there’s none). My pulse rate slows and I ask my colleague to take over the wheel. The back seat, I find, is the best place to be in this car. It is really comfortable and as different as night and day from the low-slung dungeon that the first-generation car’s rear seat is.

It is impossible to fall asleep, however, because once we cross Pune and get on the Bengaluru stretch, this bit of the GQ deteriorates. The tarmac is lumpy and Maharashtra easily outguns all other states when it comes to the league of oblivious motorcyclists/pedestrians. Joy has to punch the brakes often, swerve to avoid the drunk ‘bhau’ heading home and, overall, it is chaos all the way to Kolhapur. Then, as we approach Karnataka, the traffic thins out, the road widens and the feeling of space increases. This directly influences everyone on the road. Since they no longer have to jostle for space, everyone is calmer.

The stretch of GQ after Kolhapur, all the way to Bengaluru is mile-munching paradise. Since there’s little traffic and the road has broad shoulders, you can maintain consistently high average speeds without breaking speed limits. We are in Bengaluru just in time for rush-hour traffic – Google Maps tells us that it will take us 45 minutes to cover the 6km to the hotel! The second-generation car reminds me why it is the way it is, again in this bumper-to-bumper jostle for inches of space. It’s been a good drive but I’m glad to jump into the more exciting generation three City.

Traffic jam central to the City of Joy
On a morning when most Honda Citys are on the school run or on their way to the office, there was one hooning around on a racetrack. See, the GQ happens to run past my favourite Indian racetrack – and what better way to prove the third-generation City’s practical and fun credentials than a flat-out run on a track with a boot full of luggage. We’ve also fitted the car with wider 195-section MRF Perfinzas which should take care of our original grouse with the car – its narrow, fuel efficiency-biased tyres. I go in for a couple of laps and discover that the engine likes being wrung out, and that the tyres allow for much higher cornering speeds than I remember.

Just as I’m getting into the groove again, the officials tell us that our time is up and we need to get a move on. I promise you, the luggage in the boot stayed ironed.

We have a long way to go in addition to the mad run we’ve had on the superb stretch from Bengaluru. We’re going up the east coast and come across the best stretch of the GQ we’ve run so far – the bit before Vijayawada. I say it is great not only because it is six-lane perfection but because it is well-marked and well-lit, as well. There still are no real safety measures in place and this has been a constant through our drive. I feel they have built this fantastic road that allows for high speeds; but have left safety in the hands of the nimbu-mirchi, and the deity on the dashboard. Every village along the way has direct access to this road. There are few barriers to prevent out-of-control vehicles from careening off the road or jumping the median into your lane. There is no one to stop people from driving down the wrong side of the road; and animals freely roam this highway. It blows your mind when you actually drive down this otherwise modern road and see the number of unnecessary accidents and roadkill. It turns what should be a relaxing drive into an on-your-guard drive.

The generation three City, however, is a great long-distance car as long as you are not pushing it. That CVT gearbox (never my favourite) is great at cruising – but when you need to power out of a situation, it simply makes the engine feel strained. That aside, I’m enjoying the ability to listen to all the songs on my iPod (this generation was one of the first cars in India to altogether delete the CD player from the options list) and the seats are great, too. We make it to the Howrah Bridge and somehow land up in a hotel that serves only vegetarian fare. Picture eyes rolling.

To the capital
That bit about the GQ being completed in 2012 is not entirely true and we discover it just as we cross the Bihar border into Uttar Pradesh. For about 100-odd kilometres, all the way past Varanasi, the road is full of diversions past yet-to-be-constructed flyovers. In fact, it reminds me of how the rest of the GQ was, a decade ago. This whole belt is dismal. All the way from Jharkhand, through Bihar and UP, is one big dustbowl, and I’m quite glad I’m in the fourth-generation City, for this one. The seats are supremely comfortable and the superb sound system helps me ignore the slightly intrusive drone from the diesel engine. Once past Varanasi though, UP’s GQ improves considerably – although to no better standard than the rest of the country; or so I thought. We cheat a bit on the way back and take a part of the new Lucknow-Agra Expressway. This is a road that you could compare to anything you would drive on in a developed country. Properly barricaded, well marked with reflective signs and lane markings, it makes the Golden Quadrilateral seem, well, a bit last-century.

The fourth-generation City is superb here. It is a fantastic cruiser and I love the way it delivers power – it is responsive and also so fuel-efficient, it easily covers the distance between Kanpur and Noida on a tankful of diesel. When Honda introduced this engine in the City back in 2014, it was way the last entrant in the segment, but it was worth the wait. What a nice engine this is! We surf along the diesel’s wave of torque on the Taj Expressway, and we are in Noida before we know it.

The end
Ultimately, there’s so much you learn from a trip like this. One, India has done the typical thing of going ahead and making a great road; and lost interest in building the rest of what such roads need to keep them safe. Two, our driving standards need to improve – the general Indian has no idea how to use a road like this and they need to be educated in etiquette. We saw a man meditating cross-legged in the fast lane in Bihar, we saw another who thought it was ok to ride flat-out in the middle lane in the wrong direction. We had truckers veering into the fast lane for no reason, cows chewing the cud around fast, blind corners, cyclists, poorly marked diversions – and the works. It is high time we did something about this callous attitude to life.

The Honda City, on the other hand, has progressed with the times. A trip like this shows you how diverse India is and developing a car that pleases everyone, is quite the task. The first generation introduced us to what good engines should be like, the second generation showed how good thinking out of the conventional three-box sedan can be, the third generation mixed everything the first two generations had and wrapped it in a good-looking suit, and the fourth generation added a layer of finesse to the third generation’s quality. It’s also impressive that no matter what their age, all four (well-maintained cars, mind you) ran faultlessly. So, like we said, it is extremely difficult to build a car that suits everyone’s needs; but a drive like this shows that the City’s wide range of talents help it do a pretty good job of that.

OUSEPH CHACKO

]]>Staff Writer Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road Trip2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripThere aren’t too many places to eat along the GQ. So when you spot a dhaba and it is around lunchtime, you should stop.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripThe first and the latest generation of Honda City with Jaipur’s Jal Mahal in the background.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripA modern road used by everyone and everything – so be careful.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripThe Sambhar Salt Lake in Rajasthan, a great place to hit 7,000rpm in the generation one City.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road Trip2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripThe Generation 2 City can be extremely yawn-inducing to drive on an open road...2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road Trip... but in a city like Bengaluru, which has got the worst traffic in India, it is the easiest to drive.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripThat’s a lot of sugar in one picture.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripWe made sure we took frequent breaks.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripOh yeah! We wrangled a few flat-out laps at the Madras Motor Race Track, as we passed by.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripWhen I told Rahul that we would stop for a sub, this is not what he expected. The submarine museum at Vizag.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripA halt to take in the scenery.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripDiscovering local food is an integral part of any road trip. 2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripThe 195-section MRF Perfinzas gave the third-generation City better cornering ability. 2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripThe condition of the GQ vastly improves ocne you get out of Maharashtra and enter Karnataka.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripWe kept meticulous logs of how much fuel the cars were consuming, through the trip.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripWhen the pump attendant gets lazy, Rahul gets going.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripThe GQ can get monotonous to drive on.2461402461401Staff Writer A City Quartet: Road TripA low centre of gravity has always been important to Honda – quite the opposite, for these overloaded vehicles.2461402461401Tue, 6 Mar 2018 10:57:00 +1000407614Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000To celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Honda City, we take all four generations of the car on an epic road trip around the Golden Quadrilateral. Join us behind the wheel. To celebrate the 20th anniversary of the Honda City, we take all four generations of the car on an epic road trip around the Golden Quadrilateral. Join us behind the wheel. Tue, 6 Mar 2018 10:57:00 +1000"a" "city" "quartet" "road" "trip" "honda" "city"https://www.autocarindia.com/auto-features/a-city-quartet-road-trip-407614#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed407614India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into Russia

We said it before and we’ll say it again – China is massive. It’s taken us a good two weeks to drive the 6,200km mix of fabulous expressway and stretches of no roads from the Myanmar-China border to the China-Kyrgyzstan border in the west. Note that, as of now, this was the quickest route out!

Kyrgyzstan is country number 4 of 13 for us on this mammoth drive, but the entry is a bit unusual. There’s over 100km of ‘no man’s land’ between China and Kyrgyzstan and this includes the fearsome Torugart Pass. Luckily all that threatens us today is some chilly wind, and in time we’re at the actual Kyrgyz border. Unlike the Indian shed, the Myanmari cottage and the extravagant Chinese office building, the border crossing feels a lot more militaristic here, but still very friendly. We’re stamped and through with Immigration and Customs and are now well and truly in Central Asia.

No, this isn’t Ladakh but the Torugart Pass that connects China to Kyrgyzstan.

We spend the night in the town of Naryn, treated to an altogether different style of hospitality. The food too has changed drastically – roast chicken, grilled trout and kebabs are now the staple. This definitely isn’t China anymore.

Central Asia sojourn

Kyrgyzstan’s capital Bishkek is where we headed to next and it was scheduled as a stop for rest and recuperation. Of course, rest we did not; we had a new city to explore. Prominent sights on our list of must-sees included the city’s central area, Ala-Too Square, the impressive old Parliament house and the Victory Monument which was built in memory of those who lost their lives in World War II. As it turned out, we were out on the town on a very auspicious day. Decked-up brides and beaming grooms were to be seen all across the city and never too far from an enormously stretched SUV – seemingly the rental vehicle of choice for Bishkek’s newly-weds. The city isn’t too big, so the sightseeing didn’t take all that long. We did put the remainder of our time here to good use by giving the Kwid some much needed TLC. The car received its routine 10,000km service that got it a new air filter, an oil change and a throttle body clean-up. While the car was prepped and good to go, some of us weren’t quite as eager to leave… the superb shashliks are still playing on our minds.

The next morning was to be an early start but things didn’t quite go as planned. Nature was to blame. It had snowed through the night and it was snowing at the time of departure too. After much contemplation, we had no option but to get into the heaviest of our winter wear, brave the cold and get down to the job of scraping off the thick layer of snow on the Kwid. Thankfully, the plucky Renault showed its mettle and started at the very first crank. Just as well because the day’s journey was to have us cross into neighbouring Kazakhstan and time was of the essence. The trip until the border wasn’t easy, thanks to the snow and slush on the roads, but the Kwid on Ceat snow tyres managed just fine. A rear windscreen wiper and defogger would have been immensely helpful in this setting but the single wiper up front held its own in these testing conditions. Also, thumbs-up to the Kwid’s heater; it may have been built for an ‘Indian winter’ but it kept us cosy enough to focus on the job at hand.

Overnight snowfall added an additional layer of white on our Kwid. The Renault handled the cold better than us.

Immigration and customs offices are places of serious business, but there was some comic relief for us in the relatively tense environment at Kazakhstan border control. The Kazakh immigration officer scrutinising our documents broke into a huge grin when he got hold of our videographer Mrityunjay Chakraborty’s passport. The reason for the excitement? The immigration official thought it was yesteryear’s movie star Mithun Chakraborty in front of him! It was a big deal because Mithun and his song ‘Jimmy Jimmy’, are extremely popular in this part of the world. I kid you not! And it didn’t end there. Just post the border, the owner of a small coffee shop we stopped at first gingerly confirmed if we were from India and then pointed excitedly at her TV. A popular Indian soap opera with Russian subtitles was playing. Incredible! Our movies and television shows really are our greatest exports.

Kazakhstan is the richest of the ‘stans’ that formed from the disintegration of USSR, and the wide and superbly surfaced expressway that welcomed us into the country certainly indicated so too. The road was deserted but also extensively patrolled by radar gun-armed police, so one eye was always on the speedometer. We reached Shymkent – our halt for the night – well into the evening but the feeling was of being in a vibrant city; the neon signs of the multiple eateries around town certainly made it seem so.

Deep freeze

The cold. The cold got us good and proper in Kazakhstan. Mind you, this wasn’t even peak winter in the region! We started day 28 of the journey shivering, huffing and puffing with little knowledge that it was only going to get colder in the coming days. Soon into the drive it became clear we had left urban Kazakhstan far behind. The expressways of the days before had given way to an arrow-straight dual carriageway that cut through the vast Kazakh steppes (low grasslands) like a laser. It was scenic but it wasn’t easy-going. With no trees or barriers to break its flow, the crosswind was very strong. Gusts of wind literally had the car move lanes at times, so it was crucial to keep a firm hand on the bantamweight Kwid’s steering wheel at all times. The windchill factor also came into play at photography stops. Getting out to shoot wasn’t the wisest of things to do, but then we couldn’t just pass by a flock of native Bactrian (double-humped) camels without a few clicks, could we?

It may not look it but this is -10deg C. The strong winds made it feel colder still.

We reached the town of Aralsk just in time for dinner of soup, bread and of course, more shashlik. The soup worked its magic that night but nothing could prepare us for the cold the next morning. We woke up to news that it was -23deg outside. Minus 23! That was officially the coldest for everyone in our crew. I think we now know what the inside of a freezer feels like. To add to the challenge, we were advised to rush to the fuel station to top-up the cars at the earliest. Fuel supply was erratic in Aralsk and we’d be massively delayed should the petrol station have run out. Unfortunately for us, the hurried trip to the fuel station entailed what seemed like a never-ending (okay, two hour!) wait in the dark and harsh cold for the pump to open its doors. We finally got moving when the mercury climbed to a ‘relatively bearable’ -19deg.

Apart from their effects on man, the severe cold and strong winds were also taking a toll on machine. That day we recorded the lowest fuel economy of 10.4kpl. Not what you want on a day of 600km-plus driving. And remember, the Kwid has just a 28-litre fuel tank. If that wasn’t enough, the highway to Aktobe was also devoid of fuel stations. At the one-third mark, we had no option but to tank up from jerry cans at a local garage selling fuel at an inflated price. Inflated by Kazakhstan standards that is. It still worked out to just Rs 38 per litre! As we continued on the lonesome highway, we realised if there’s one thing about being far away from civilization, it’s that you get front row seats to the most beautiful vistas. The gorgeous sunset seen through the windscreen of the Kwid almost made up for the hardships of the day.
Day 30 of the drive was our last in Kazakhstan. There are multiple borders to neighbouring Russia, but the route we took seemed to lead us through the set of a Hollywood Western. There were dry fields as far as the eye could see and even rolling tumbleweed for effect. Good, bad or ugly, the scenery didn’t change for the 300-odd kilometres right until the Russian border. Nor did our humble steed miss a beat.

Jugaad in Kazakhstan. We had to tank up from jerry cans when there were no fuel stations.

Formalities at the border took long and the cold didn’t help but, heck, we were now in Russia!

From Russia with love

The advantage of travelling westward by road is that you earn a precious few hours of ‘extra time’ whenever you cross over into a new time zone. Russia has 11 time zones and the region we were in was two hours behind Kazakhstan! Unfortunately, our body clocks weren’t ready to adapt so soon; we were all up long before the alarms rang, impatiently pacing about our hotel in the tiny town of Bolshaya Chernigovka.

A long wait and a rather tasty breakfast later, we were on the road again. Immediately Russia felt very different to Kazakhstan of the day before. And it wasn’t just down to the reappearanceof trees or the changing landscape. For one, English had disappeared from the signboards. The Cyrillic script Russian is written in is hard to decipher for non-natives, so there was no way to cross-check if our GPS was taking us the right way. However, our trust in technology did come through. What was also clear was that there was a lot more activity on Russia’s roads, especially from truck traffic. Just a word of caution for anyone planning a drive through this region: always give way to trucks. Truckers here don’t honk or flash their truck’s headlights to signal an intent to overtake. Rather, tailgating seems to be the go-to approach. You can imagine how vulnerable we felt seeing the oversized grille of a 15-tonne trailer filling the rear-view mirror of our 700kg Kwid! These intimidation tactics aside, traffic on the dual carriageway was disciplined all through our journey to Syzran. The Russian authorities’ solution of placing cardboard cut-outs of police cars at strategic positions along the highway seemed to be doing more than just giving us a few laughs.

The light Kwid had to share space with massive trucks on Russia’s dual carriageways.

Day 32 and it was on towards Spaask. The sun was out in all its glory but there was no getting around the cold. Bottles of water left in the car had frozen overnight and just about every water body en route was now under a blanket of ice. On frigid days as this, it was immensely helpful that the Kwid’s touchscreen was responsive to inputs even through our gloves. It really was the little things that made all the difference. Of course, solyanka (Russian soup) and goulash (stew) also helped keep us running at operating temperature.

There was an air of excitement the next day because we were to drive into Russia’s capital, Moscow. We did make an earlier-than-usual start to maximise our time in the city but things didn’t go our way. Moscow is notorious for its traffic jams and we got an idea of how bad the situation is a good 25km outside the city centre. Outbound traffic was packed like sardines and the going was slow for those headed into town as well. We reached our hotel in the heart of the city well into the evening. For better or worse, our sightseeing that night was restricted to the innumerous luxury cars on Moscow’s roads. And to think this was once the capital of the Communist world!

It would have been criminal to drive through Moscow without capturing on camera at least some of the sights the city is so famous for. And that’s why we kept an entire day for photography and exploring. Our first port of call was the famous Red Square. It’s a place with so much history (apparently over 800 years worth) and man-made beauty, we found ourselves tearing in many directions all at once. On one side of the cobblestone-surfaced square is the fantastic and eccentric St Basil’s Cathedral – you know, the technicolour, onion-domed church you’d probably picture when you think of Moscow. Then there is the beautiful GUM building. It may look like a palace but was actually used as just a department store during the Soviet era! History buffs have the State History Museum and you could even visit Lenin’s Mausoleum to pay your respects to the man who changed Russia forever. It’s a pity we didn’t have the time to venture past the red walls of Moscow’s Kremlin (walled complex) just behind. It’s where a lot of Russia’s biggest political moments have played out.

When it was time to move on, the Kwid’s small size and light controls came handy in the heart of Moscow where traffic is dense and where you have a higher chance of winning the lottery than finding parking. We made our way around town passing by the iconic Gorky Park and the resplendent Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. The shining white cathedral is replete with golden domes that are an architectural identity of this part of Russia. Honestly, many of the buildings
in central Moscow just blew us away.

]]>Staff Writer Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaBactrian (double-humped) camels are native to Central Asia. And as we learned, they’re rather photogenic too.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaNo, this isn’t Ladakh but the Torugart Pass that connects China to Kyrgyzstan.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaOur Kwid stands its ground with one of Bishkek’s many XXL wedding mobiles.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaThe Victory Monument in Bishkek is dedicated to those who lost their lives in World War II.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaOvernight snowfall added an additional layer of white on our Kwid. The Renault handled the cold better than us.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaFuel price was low but temperature was lower still!2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaShort daylight hours meant much of our sightseeing was in the dark. This is the impressive Nur Gasyr Mosque in Aktobe, Kazakhstan.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaIt may not look it but this is -10deg C. The strong winds made it feel colder still.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaCut-outs of police cars on Russia’s highways a reminder to keep speeds in check.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaThe light Kwid had to share space with massive trucks on Russia’s dual carriageways.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaMoscow’s iconic St Basil’s
Cathedral adds colour to
the greyest of days.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaShashliks were comfort food for us in Central Asia.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaIce fishing calls for incredible patience and a superhuman resistance to the cold.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 3: Journey into RussiaJugaad in Kazakhstan. We had to tank up from jerry cans when there were no fuel stations.2461402461401Sat, 29 Apr 2017 06:00:00 +1000404789Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000Slush, snow and sleet welcome us to Central Asia as we journey on in the India-made Kwid towards Renault HQ at Paris.Slush, snow and sleet welcome us to Central Asia as we journey on in the India-made Kwid towards Renault HQ at Paris.Sat, 29 Apr 2017 06:00:00 +1000"renault kwid" "india to paris" "renault kwid drive"https://www.autocarindia.com/auto-features/india-to-paris-in-a-renault-kwid-part-3-journey-into-russia-404789#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed404789India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through China

BACK TO REALITY

The immensity of China’s infrastructure continues to impress as we drive out of Ruili the next morning, but not before cleansing the cars of all the Myanmari muck and grime with a thorough car wash. Seeing the Kwid and Duster glistening once again is cathartic. We leave town through the most extravagant toll both we’ve ever seen, and onto a superbly-built four-lane expressway. Of course it’s tempting to just blaze down at Vmax, but alas, the speed limit is very strictly enforced in China, using arrays of cameras mounted above the road every few dozen kilometres to track your speed and snap you. We are not taking any chances.

But we get stopped by the authorities anyway – the military, actually – at a routine checkpoint. Initially, there’s a bit of suspicion, what with the unfamiliar cars, the Indian number plates and the obvious language barrier, but a check of our paperwork later, we’re posing for photos with the armed forces. They just can’t get enough of our journey, and the little Kwid.

It’s also out on this pristine highway that I’m really getting the hang of the new 1.0-litre engine. Despite driving through all of North India and Myanmar, in this organised environment is where I get a real feel for it. A small confession – before this drive started, I’d never driven the 1.0-litre Kwid. I’d thoroughly tested the 800cc version and even ran it as a long-termer for a while, but I first turned the key on this version at the flag-off in Delhi. And it fixes my one complaint with the original car. The 799cc mill is great for fuel economy, but its lack of oomph just wouldn’t cut it on the highway. This new motor is more at ease at motorway speeds, smoother and has enough power to cruise comfortably.

Night has fallen as we pull off the expressway and into the far more modest town of Dali. Yes, there are still neon signs all over the place, but it’s far more scaled down. There are the equivalent of ‘dhabas’ by the side of the road, the streets aren’t all well lit, and we have a surprise encounter with our first pothole in China. Even our hotel is in a tiny little village by a lake with extremely narrow streets. Dinner too is at a local Chinese barbecue stall by the roadside. Thousands of kilometres and half a world away, it somehow feels like home.

CHINA IS VAST

I hear that some really menacing roads will rear their ugly heads in a few days. This thought furrows my brow, but not for long, because of the view that’s spread out before me. We’re on the banks of the perfectly still Erhai Lake as the sun rises; it’s the picture of serenity. Equally staggering, but for a very different reason, is the 1500-year-old Ancient City, which of course we had to pay a visit to on our way out. It’s three towering pagodas were supposedly the target of dozens of failed robberies over the years because the thieves could never find the treasure that was said to be hidden inside. The Chinese government then accidentally stumbled upon the treasure during a restoration effort a few years ago, and it’s still in there today.

You may have seen this on the news, but we’re living it first-hand today – one of China’s infamous freeway traffic jams. The amazing highway comes to a complete standstill, and we’re in a 3km-long queue! There’s been an accident far, far up ahead, and all traffic is stopped (not diverted) until it is cleared up. Most of the hour’s wait is spent discussing the Kwid – with the help of our very patient guide – to the scores of curious locals who, too, are at a loose end. “No, it’s not really an SUV, but it’s not exactly a hatchback either.” “Yes, you can get an automatic also.” “Yup, ground clearance is very good.” “Made in India.” “All the way to France, yes!” “Coming to China? Don’t think so.”

We eventually get moving, en route to a lovely and twisty mountain road – a chance to let loose the little puppy dog that’s hidden inside the Kwid. Our first taste of fun driving in China, but surely not our last. The earlier delay means we reach Xichang – a city that somehow feels like Dubai, with its shiny buildings and wide, palm-lined roads – only at 10.30pm. Sleep comes instantly.

This section of highway in the Sichuan province can withstand earthquakes, and cost Rs 80 crore to build – per kilometre!

Our drive to Chengdu the next day is a collection of big numbers. At over 7,000m tall, Gongga is one of the tallest peaks in China. Through another mountain goes the Ni Bashan tunnel that’s an incredible 10km long. We also ford a section of the Yangtze, China’s longest and widest river. At 181 metres, there’s also the world’s tallest support pillar for a bridge. And that bridge is part of a highway that cost China 80 million Yuan (Rs 80 crore) to build – per kilometre! It’s also on this stretch that our trip meter ticks past the 5,000km mark. We’re almost at Chengdu now – the biggest city in China we’ll be visiting on this trip – and thankfully, we’re spending a day here to recuperate.

BYE BYE, BIG CITY

Today we’ve threaded our little convoy into a market in Chengdu seemingly too small for mopeds, let alone cars. If you’re familiar with Mumbai, imagine Lamington Road, but more crowded. We’ve picked up snow chains for the tyres, in case things get really Arctic. Going by what the locals are telling us, we should be a little careful, as they’ve seen heavy snowfall and loads of ice on the mountain passes in recent days. Yikes!

It’s not all hard work though, as we do get the chance to take in some of Chengdu’s big-city culture, including a nice Sichuan hotpot dinner. Sichuan, of course, is the name of this province that’s been lost in translation on the way to India (you know it better as Schezwan), but the common factor is spicy red chilli-based sauce, and we get to sample the real deal. Suffice to say, all of our shopping is made up entirely of spices.

The other thing that hits me right away is that the infamous pollution you hear about in the news is real. There’s a murky haze that lingers low, halfway up the buildings, causing the tail-lamps in the traffic to glimmer as they come on. But then I’m once again reminded of how quickly China’s infrastructure has come up and how the locals have just had to adapt. A global standard of traffic rules, world-class roads, a proper fining and regulation system – it all sounds like a dream, sure, but it mustn’t have been easy to implement, especially to a populace that was only introduced to proper passenger cars much later than you think.

I’m told that Chengdu is the last proper metro city we’ll see in China on this drive, with only villages and satellite towns from here on, and as big-city folk, we’re certainly going to miss the mad urbanism of this fascinating city. So we let the Kwid soak in the last of the big neon lights before we head back to the countryside.

IT COULD GET WILD

“I did wear my thermals this morning, right?” I think to myself as we roll out of Chengdu in the smoggy dawn. A quick glance at my colleagues’ uncomfortable faces reveals they’re probably thinking the same. It’s suddenly gotten so cold, and we’re in the same city we’ve been for the past two days! Perhaps if the cars had shown some signs of hesitation when they started up this morning, we’d have been better clued in; but they didn’t, firing to life on the first crank.
It starts with more of that incredible Chinese expressway of course, and in fact, almost half of the journey is dispatched in the blink of an eye because of this. We’ve got a bit of sun, but the temperature reads dangerously close to zero. We meet some locals at breakfast who are just as curious about our journey as they are about the Kwid. “All the way from Delhi?” “All the way to Paris!?” Some of them are proper car buffs too, quizzing us about valve gear and suspension, but more so about why the car was envisioned and who it is for. There’s clearly a buzz building around the Kwid in China and we’re excited to be at the centre of it.

The region’s most reliable mode of transportation meets the Kwid.

Things are now starting to get decidedly rural, and the whole place resembles Ladakh quite closely. This part of China runs alongside Tibet, and we’re told a lot of people from both countries cross the border to live on the other side. As a result, it’s a melting pot of both cultures, with even the road signs being labelled in both Chinese and Tibetan. We’ve also climbed to 3,500m above sea level, and for the first time on this trip, we see our first signs of snow, capping some mountains in the distance. As we check into our hotel in Xiahe, we’re thrilled to finally reach somewhere while the sun is still out, for a change. We should savour it; tomorrow is going to be really cold.

SUB-ZERO

And, as predicted, the next morning is frigid. The cars are covered in a thin film of snow and the temperature has dropped to -3deg C. We have ‘only’ 470km to cover today, that too on some rather good highways, but the views are so breathtaking that we can’t help but stop every few dozen kilometres to get a few shots in. The result is it’s 12 hours before we pull into Heimahe Village for the night.

On the contrary, the next day, we’re promised rather treacherous roads. An unwelcome -6deg C is a frightening sign of things to come, and when we do stop for breakfast in a small town, we’re forced to take shelter in a grocery store; the kind lady even lets us use her little residence in the back of the shop, with a furnace to keep us warm. Piping hot instant noodles never tasted this good.

Next is an ascent to 4,120m above sea level where, mandatory photos and videos later, we risk frostbite with a rather violent snowball fight. On the way down, our guide tells us we have two route options – shorter with a poor surface, or longer but smoother; we choose the latter. Turns out our guide was entirely wrong, as what lies ahead ends up being the most dangerous road we drive on this entire trip.

The toughest road we faced in China and perhaps the whole trip; thick snow and sheer drops kept the drivers on their toes and their hearts in their mouths.

The tarmac runs out in less than 100km, the surface deteriorating to mud, peppered with pockets of snow. It also climbs quite quickly, and the next thing you know, we’re atop a mountain pass. The icy winds are rocking us from side to side, the road is barely wide enough to fit both cars, and, because the snow is so thick, we can’t quite make out where it ends. Our photographers are super excited to get as many shots as they can, but we have to call them back into the cars; it’s too dangerous, and we just need to get it over with as quickly as possible. Nerves of steel, a smooth throttle pedal and faith in the cars’ (and the tyres’) ability to pull through; and pull through they did; you thought all that ground clearance was just for show? Once our hearts had moved from our mouths back to our chests, we descended the mountain on an absolutely demolished road that could have been plucked from India. After the monotony of endless perfect roads in China, it was actually a welcome challenge.

METAMORPHOSIS

We start our journey from Jiayuguan with a visit to the Great Wall of China, but disappointingly, it doesn’t look quite as ‘great’ as we remember. We’re then told that this is the western end of the wall, one that’s a lot smaller than the main section that you see in pictures.

I mentioned earlier how, in parts of China that bordered Tibet, the two cultures would often cross over. That’s stopped now, but in the final province of Xinjiang, a whole different sort of metamorphosis is taking place. Things are starting to look and feel a lot more Central Asian, a little Middle Eastern, a bit Baltic, with just a hint of Europe, but we’re very much still in China. Well, at least the expressways are back, so that’s a relief, and the next 600km goes by in a flash. On our way from Hami to Turpan, we stop by the Kumul desert, with soft, sandy dunes that could rival Abu Dhabi. It’s strange being around sand and heat mere days after being shin-deep in snow. It’s also quite a shocker that while we were 4,120m above sea level just days ago, we’re now at the lowest inland point in the world – 154.3m below sea level! What a vast and varied country China is.

We’re still in China, right? Kashgar, the last city before Kyrgyzstan is a melting pot of several cultures, evident as we stop for a photo outside its famous Id Kah Mosque.

Finally, we enter Kashgar, the last city in China before the Kyrgyz border. This place is the equivalent of cultural schizophrenia, as it was once a key pit-stop on the Silk Route. Signs here are written in not one or two, but five different languages, and similarly, there’s a better chance of finding someone who can understand English here than most other places in China. The traffic has gotten rather unruly as well. It’s a fitting way to prepare us for the cultural shift that we’ll encounter getting into Kyrgyzstan tomorrow.

]]>Staff Writer Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaThe toughest road we faced in China and perhaps the whole trip; thick snow and sheer drops kept the drivers on their toes and their hearts in their mouths.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through Chinat may not look as majestic as you see in the photos, but this too is the Great Wall of China;
albeit the smaller, western end of it.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaThe Kumul desert is our introduction to the main
Gobi desert we’ll encounter later; it has soft yellow sandy dunes big enough to rival Abu Dhabi.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaFrom 4,000 metres up to 154 metres below sea level - this basin in Turpan is the lowest inland point on earth.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through China2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaWe’re still in China, right? Kashgar, the last city before Kyrgyzstan is a melting pot of several cultures, evident as we stop for a photo outside its famous Id Kah Mosque.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaChinese hotpot is quite a treat; choose your ingredients, cook them yourself.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaThis section of highway in the Sichuan
province can withstand earthquakes, and
cost Rs 80 crore to build – per kilometre!2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaThe region’s most reliable mode of transportation meets the Kwid.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaEven in sub-zero temperatures,
we face slowdowns due to traffic of the living, breathing kind.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaA monk by the prayer wheels at a Tibetan monastery.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 2: Journey through ChinaTyre-deep snow at 4,120m above sea level; the perfect place to reflect on the drive, or have a snowball fight.2461402461401Sat, 15 Apr 2017 06:00:00 +1000404657Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000We witness the sights and sounds of China and experience the country's highways as we continue onward on our journey.We witness the sights and sounds of China and experience the country's highways as we continue onward on our journey.Sat, 15 Apr 2017 06:00:00 +1000"renault kwid" "india to paris" "renault kwid drive"https://www.autocarindia.com/auto-features/india-to-paris-in-a-renault-kwid-part-2-journey-through-china-404657#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed404657India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to China

“No. Nope. No. Not that one. No, sorry. Not that one either. No.” The frustration on the Renault service exec’s face upon hearing this was plain to see. He’d expended a good deal of time and effort curating a concise list of ‘essential’ spare parts we’d need to carry on this trip, and, one item at a time, we were tearing it down. I mean, sure, worst-case scenario, we might encounter a boulder field somewhere in rural China, but still, I doubt we’ll need a spare oil sump, right? The truth is, with just two cars, up to six people and their luggage, and an additional set of tyres (for each car), we’re already tight on space, and while we do need to carry spare parts for our spanking new Renault Kwid 1.0 (and the Duster AWD that will be its bodyguard), we need to keep it to the barest of minimums. It’s a long drive and, well, we’d like to do it comfortably.
The next morning, India Gate is awash with visitors; it’s the weekend, so it’s only natural. The soldiers that guard the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier are as surprised as the passersby to see a car (a private vehicle no less) parked at the famous monument. Cameras are trained on Renault India boss, Sumit Sawhney, and our own boss, Hormazd Sorabjee, as they talk about the journey we’re about to undertake – taking the Kwid from its actual home to its spiritual home. India to France, Delhi to Paris, India Gate to Arc de Triomphe – there’s a nice synchronicity to it. And, as they hop into the Kwid and pull out into the churn that is our Capital’s traffic, that’s it, we are underway.

A few hours later, somewhere on the Yamuna Expressway, where we’ve stopped for a paratha breakfast, a group of bikers dismount from their fleet of pristine Triumphs to inspect our two-car-strong convoy. Maybe it was the Kwid’s uncommon white-on-black colour scheme (those wheel covers make all the difference), maybe it was the massive Thule storage box atop the Duster, but more than likely, it was the decals – Ceat Tyres and Autocar India, and the contrasting tricolours of India and France.

The pristine vastness of the Yamuna Expressway means a huge chunk of our first day’s travel is over in a flash. Yes, we get some traffic as we enter Varanasi, our first halt, but all things considered, we make light work of the first 800-odd kilometres. That can’t be said of the next 800km, all the way to Siliguri in West Bengal. We knew it would be a bit of a task, but we didn’t account for the town of Gaya. Narrow lanes, unruly drivers and a rather roundabout route meant we spent two hours there! Worse still, as we push through Bihar, the highway deteriorates into a series of craters and slows our movement to a snail’s pace. So, at close to midnight with about 160km still left for Siliguri, we throw in the towel. The tiny town of Katihar is dead to the world at this hour, of course, but we find a place to stay and call it a night.

THE NEAR EAST

The sleepy town of Katihar? Turns out it isn’t all that sleepy. The hazy morning light revealed that our hotel is smack in the middle of the world’s busiest vegetable market. The pair of Renaults criss-cross through stray carts and piles of produce, crawling toward the merciful release of the National Highway. We’re driving to Guwahati today, and that means our much-anticipated foray into the North East of India.

The road into Assam, however, is incredibly frustrating, and no, I don’t mean the countless police checkpoints that will make you trace out your family tree because your car is registered in another state. It’s because you have kilometre upon kilometre of pristine four-lane highway that’s frequently interrupted by immense craters, and when we say immense, we mean as much as a 2ft drop in elevation. It’s a good thing we have a pair of crossovers with us, because boy, is this hard work. Every brief stretch of smooth tarmac is a short-lived revelation.

Rough road transportation has come a long way since the good old days, and we’re all the happier for it.

Guwahati’s main road is as comforting as a warm hug after a long day at the office; it’s smooth, familiar and bustling. There’s nothing we want more than our hotel rooms right now, but first things first, time to drop the cars off for one final check at the Renault service centre before we venture off into the unknown.

The next morning, a late start for a short drive. We pick up the cars, grab a deliciously messy fried Chinese meal at a local restaurant, and find ourselves on one of the nicest ghat roads in the country, getting out of Guwahati. It doesn’t last though, and soon we’re reduced to a miserable trudge even slower than the day before. Pockets of Dimapur – our night stop in Nagaland – are still alive as we drive in close to 9pm, including, rather eerily, a funfair.

Dimapur to Imphal is the shortest leg of our journey in India – perhaps of this entire trip – at just around 200km. Yet, somehow, it turns out to be the longest. The road is the worst we’ve seen yet; an unending barrage of hellish craters, blinding dust and idiotic oncoming traffic with permanent high beams for good measure. It’s taken its toll as we crawl, incredibly fatigued, into Imphal – our last stop in India.

LEAVING HOME

The morning starts like every other before it; there’s no sense that we’re about to take our first momentous step on this journey – crossing our first international border. We load up the Kwid’s large boot with all the luggage we can, squeeze what remains into the Duster, and then load ourselves in for the ride. Then we check all fluid levels in the car, note down the odometer reading and time of departure, and finally the temperature. It’s a lazy, hazy crawl out of Imphal on some gorgeous but narrow farm roads, leading into the mountains and onward to Moreh, the Indian side of the border. It’s not all bliss and grandeur though – two major army checkpoints mean we have to queue up for a kilometre to register the cars with the border forces. On top of that, the roads are in terrible shape, it hasn’t stopped raining, and now we’re concerned it might be dark by the time we finish with all the formalities on both sides of the borders.

Each time we visit, it’s just as fascinating. The India-Myanmar border is no more than a single-lane metal bridge.

In the midst of all of this, you might think that the Kwid – a car that’s only 18-months old – might be something of an alien sight up here at the very fringes of the country. Sure, it still manages to get heads turning, but it’s actually quite a familiar sight. In fact, that’s been the biggest surprise on our India leg of this journey – just how many Kwids there are out on the streets. It’s no surprise seeing them in New Delhi and other big cities, but there’s plenty of them in smaller towns too, and more often than not, decked out in a good variety of accessories.
You’ll have been through Customs and Immigration at an airport, right? Well, doing it at a land border is nothing like that. The ‘Immigration Office’ at Moreh is a small cane shed with a humungous rooster sitting on the desk. We knock at the door of a nearby house to summon the officer, and he greets us cheerfully and asks for our papers; it’s all a very friendly and personal experience. The Customs office is about a kilometre up the road, where things go by in a similarly jovial manner. If only airports were like this. Since we are driving two cars across the border, they too have to be declared, even coming with their own ‘passports’ called carnets.

The actual border between India and Myanmar is no more than a narrow, unassuming, single-lane, wood-paved bridge that goes over a river – the Friendship Road. The real cool bit is you get onto the bridge driving on the left-hand-side of the road, but you get off it on the right. Our ‘Make in India’ Kwid rolls onto foreign soil for the first time, greeted by our enthusiastic Myanmari tour guides, dressed in their traditional finest. Immigration and Customs here goes by in a flash, and soon we’re in truly uncharted territory. This is where the journey begins in earnest.

FEELING THE BURM’

The road to our night stop in Gangaw is dark and treacherous. It’s narrow, mucky and layered with all manner of potholes. If we’re to make good time, we have to be on our toes to keep up a steady and heady pace. It’s a good thing the Kwid has a generous 180mm between its belly and the road. It means that even if we do get caught out by a massive crater, there’s enough clearance to keep us safe.

The next day, the Kwid’s big wiper is working overtime to keep the windscreen spotless, because it’s raining sheets and it doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon. We’re hearing stories from the locals about several landslides along our route, as well as the river breaking its banks and overflowing in a few places. To say a whiff of trepidation had tinged the air would be putting it mildly. On several of the roads that we traverse, water is starting to build up on the sides, sometimes even with a little current of its own.

If you though our potholes were bad, you should visit Myanmar, which had the roughest roads on this trip.

The drive from the night before was quite a blur, but today, I’m truly learning what it’s like
to drive a right-hand-drive car on the right side of the road. It’s all well and good when you’re just following traffic; the real challenge comes when you want to overtake, especially a large vehicle. Myanmari roads are narrow, and to overtake something, you have to veer out carefully from behind it, make sure nothing’s coming towards you, and then gun it – you really need a co-driver to be a spotter. In the compact Kwid, however, seeing past a car in front of you is a lot easier. What’s more, the locals don’t seem very fond of using their indicators, so you have to constantly check your mirrors to see if someone is coming by.

The foul weather continues, and as we go from mountain to mountain, we manage to cross the mucky remnants of three landslides with surprisingly little stress, and even a small stream. But as we’re nearing the city of Mandalay, one of our big fears comes true. A part of the Irawaddy river has overflown, causing a rather rapid current, about a foot and a half deep and 30 feet wide, over the highway. We send the Duster ahead to plot the course, but a man on a moped squeezes past us just as we’re about to enter the deluge. Two feet in and he gets knocked over, but luckily, there’s a team of emergency workers there to set him right and guide him down. We take a deep breath and set off in the Kwid, smoothly and steadily. The water is now lapping up to the passenger side window, but there’s no drama, no fuss, as we cross over to the other side. It may weigh just around 900kg loaded up, but the Kwid is one tough cookie.

MYANMAR: INDIA EXTENDED

Our hotel in Pyin Oo Lwin is unlike any other we’ve stayed at yet. Our rooms are large cabins with high ceilings, and wooden floors and walls. The reception and dining area is a large old British cottage, the walls are adorned with grainy old post-war photos, and breakfast is eggs made to order. It’s no wonder, because it used to be a British outpost, and we’re told, possibly even used by (whisper it) MI5, the secret service.

It makes me realise just how much our two countries have in common. Apart from being home to the British for a long time, people here also like to chew ‘paan’, the weather is quite similar, and men even wear something quite similar to a ‘lungi’. Even the landscape, the flora, the food and the roads are very similar. What’s more, as a treat, our guides took us to an ‘Indian’ restaurant for lunch, which served us its own version of chicken biryani – not quite the same as the real thing, but really good in its own right.

The drive to our last stop in Myanmar – Lashio – is a relatively short 214km, so we’re taking it easy, stopping to shoot the Kwid against some of the stunning backdrops in this gorgeous country. After stopping at an unbelievably ornate stupa with a gold dome and intricate mirror mosaic work, we also join some locals for a quick game of Chinlone or cane futsal, the national sport. This is rural country, so they’re not quite sure what to make of the Kwid, but parked alongside the Duster, the family resemblance is clear even to them.

Every stupa in Myanmar is grander than the last, and this one, with its gold domes and mirrormosaic interiors was definitely worth a visit.

We pull into Lashio after dark. The locals are all out on the street even though it’s late, celebrating, eating street food and generally making merry as we weave the tiny, nimble Kwid around them. And just like that, we’ve finished crossing a whole country, albeit one so familiar if you’re Indian. Our Indo-French envoys are truly on an international mission now. Tomorrow, the border, and China.

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

It’s a long drive from Lashio to the Chinese border, and we want to be presentable when we cross over into a new country – and by ‘we’, I mean the cars. But, alas, the road is layered in muck and the intermittent downpour isn’t helping. I’d like to nurse the Kwid over these sections, but we have to keep up a certain pace too, so I’m just hoping the 155-section Ceats don’t kick up too much dirt. After a point though, the roads open up and just gunning it up the hills is too good an opportunity to pass up. Some wide corners with a loose surface even have me reaching for the handbrake, but no, we must be responsible on this diplomatic journey.

The rubbish weather and messy road surface follow us all the way to the border. There’s a gate ahead, and through it, an imposing oriental archway looms in the distance, and past that we see dozens of people and fancy cars milling about. Is that China? Turns out it is. Our boots splash down into the mush as we gather our paperwork and make our way into Immigration and Customs. No shacks here, but a proper set of offices, and officers. We feel like kings, driving our two cars through the aforementioned archway, met by curious glances from both officials and travellers alike.

What happens on the other side is a revelation. The little Renault’s tyres go from wet mud to perfectly set tarmac as it rolls through the grand archway. The beaten-up old lorries and cobbled-together sedans have given way to the very latest luxury SUVs and trendy electric scooters. We haven’t crossed countries, we’ve crossed through time. The generational jump is somewhat balanced out by the fact that our social media abilities instantly disappear – no more Google, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter or Snapchat. We do, at least, still have WhatsApp to stay in touch.

The grandeur of the Myanmar-China border gate is a sign of things to come.

The little Kwid is dwarfed by the enormity of the city of Ruili. As a border town, it must show off China’s finest to those who enter. The buildings are vast and grand, adorned fastidiously with neon signage, the roads are wide and well labelled, and there’s even a good amount of gardens and shrubs. We’re used to big cities of course, but after 10 days of rural India and Myanmar, even we have to recalibrate our brains a little bit.

The other thing that’s new in China is the rules and regulations. First, we all have to make temporary drivers’ licenses – our international driving permits won’t do. Same goes for the cars, which have to get temporary registration for China – a laminated number plate that we place on the dashboard. Then there’s the constant surveillance – cameras are everywhere, snapping away at you as you drive by; you think you’ve broken the law even when you haven’t. Even buying mobile phone SIM cards requires all the information in your passport. Welcome to China!

]]>Staff Writer Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaRough road transportation has come a long way since the good old days, and we’re all the happier for it.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaLift-net fishing is very simple and far more lucrative than it looks; we watch the day’s catch outside Dimapur.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaImmigration between India and Myanmar is a cane shed with a desk in it; still friendlier than most airports.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaEach time we visit, it’s just as fascinating. The India-Myanmar border is no more than a single-lane metal bridge.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaPutting every last one of the Kwid’s 180mm ground clearance to full use in Myanmar.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaThe river became the road: the Irrawaddy broke its banks and crossed the highway.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaSure Myanmar has a lot of bad roads, but when they’re good, they’re really, really good.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaEvery stupa in Myanmar is grander than the last, and this one, with its gold domes and mirrormosaic interiors was definitely worth a visit.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaIf you though our potholes were bad, you should visit Myanmar, which had the roughest roads on this trip.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaThanaka is a sunscreen home-made from bark and used all over Myanmar.2461402461401Staff Writer India to Paris in a Renault Kwid part 1: India to ChinaThe grandeur of the Myanmar-China border gate is a sign of things to come.2461402461401Tue, 21 Mar 2017 15:00:00 +1000404483Staff Writer Autocar India staff photograherMon, 1 Jan 0001 00:00:00 +1000Designed in France and built in India, the Kwid is a &#8216;Make in India&#8217; story like no other, and we&#8217;re on a journey to take it &#8216;back&#8217; to ParisDesigned in France and built in India, the Kwid is a &#8216;Make in India&#8217; story like no other, and we&#8217;re on a journey to take it &#8216;back&#8217; to ParisTue, 21 Mar 2017 15:00:00 +1000"renault kwid to paris" "india to parishttps://www.autocarindia.com/auto-features/india-to-paris-in-a-renault-kwid-part-1-india-to-china-404483#utm_source=feed&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=Autocar+India+Travel+feed404483